


White liars

by second_writer



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:30:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_writer/pseuds/second_writer
Summary: Don’t give up, the magician said, reaching forward to brush Hakuba’s face lightly with white clothed fingers. Only half-aware still, the detective only noted he’d been holding his breath the moment he let it go and the thief shattered. Dissolving in white light like clouds of snow.





	White liars

Don’t give up, the magician said, reaching forward to brush Hakuba’s face lightly with white clothed fingers. Only half-aware still, the detective only noted he’d been holding his breath the moment he let it go and the thief shattered. Dissolving in white light like clouds of snow. ‘Poetic’ his mind softly supplied. Hakuba wasn’t sure if that were meant sarcastically, or genuine. Right now, though, it was those earlier words he mused over, ‘Don’t give up’. He looked down at the empty ale bottles spread carelessly over the floor. Giving up seemed to quite well describe his plan for the night. He might call it his desire even, if he were honest, and drowning bottles full of ale in quick succession tended to make one more honest. 

So, were had his subconscious pulled this mirage from? And what had it thought the thief’s words to mean? Don’t give up on his job, on life, on catching the thief himself? They both should be well aware he’d given up on the last long ago. His mind followed his gaze, from the empty bottles on the floor to the moon outside the window, in whose sill he’d seated himself. It was a small moon and in this city, with it streetlights, glowing billboards, cars and uncovered windows, it’s light never seemed to seep through. 

Clink! Ting, rrrr. The bottle he’d forgotten, in his hand, had slipped to the floor. A splash of yet undrunk alcohol expanding the scene of devastation (desolation?).   
‘Don’t give up’ the words echoed through his mind again and he found his eyes intuitively seeking out the other side of the window. Down. Twelve floors down.   
He closed his eyes, heavy with exhaustion, and sunk a little further down in the windowsill. ‘Too late, tantei~san’ a memory in his mind taunted. An oblivious, ever white clad Kuroba sticking his tongue out playfully. Just jumping out of reach of his hand. Stretching, losing. Always losing on that last inch, just before their fingers would meet, ever since the first time. 

Not yet, he replies. Not yet, he reassures that cheerful magician, laughing as if there’s no darkness in this world. In a way Hakuba knows will never return, if he… This thing about drinking too much and honesty. It hurts when he pulls himself safe away, from the abyss, from the streets below, overly lit, but he does it. Nonetheless, the floor he falls to is wet and cold and when he falls asleep among the bottles, it doesn’t feel like a victory. 

It feels like a loss.


End file.
